Page 373 - of-human-bondage-

growing a little impatient of Lawson’s peremptory advice
and wanted to be by himself. At the end of the week he went
up to the model and on the pretence that his drawing was
not finished asked whether he would come and sit to him
one day.
‘I’m not a model,’ the Spaniard answered. ‘I have other
things to do next week.’
‘Come and have luncheon with me now, and we’ll talk
about it,’ said Philip, and as the other hesitated, he added
with a smile: ‘It won’t hurt you to lunch with me.’
With a shrug of the shoulders the model consented, and
they went off to a cremerie. The Spaniard spoke broken
French, fluent but difficult to follow, and Philip managed
to get on well enough with him. He found out that he was a
writer. He had come to Paris to write novels and kept him-
self meanwhile by all the expedients possible to a penniless
man; he gave lessons, he did any translations he could get
hold of, chiefly business documents, and at last had been
driven to make money by his fine figure. Sitting was well
paid, and what he had earned during the last week was
enough to keep him for two more; he told Philip, amazed,
that he could live easily on two francs a day; but it filled him
with shame that he was obliged to show his body for mon-
ey, and he looked upon sitting as a degradation which only
hunger could excuse. Philip explained that he did not want
him to sit for the figure, but only for the head; he wished to
do a portrait of him which he might send to the next Salon.
‘But why should you want to paint me?’ asked the Span-
iard.

Of Human Bondage